


Strangelove

by Supernuetral_Detective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Dom!John, Dom/sub, M/M, Murder Mystery, Punishment, Spanking, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernuetral_Detective/pseuds/Supernuetral_Detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly dangerous case, Sherlock and John face each other as more than just friends. With their expanded boundaries, how far will John push his authority and how much will Sherlock oblige?<br/>*Spanking, punishment, fluff, cuddling, kissing, and smut here or there*</p><p>--*As of 08.03.2016, is under revision*--</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A clouded day yielded to a downcast mood. The boys living in 221 B Baker street were in constant motion. An unsolved murder here, a quadruple "suicide" there... Sherlock Holmes would rush to the scene, his curly hair and coat flapping behind him as his friend and blogger, John Watson, followed suite. 

But today, both sat in their adjacent chairs, Sherlock sitting upside down in his, and found comfort in the rare silence that rang through their flat. The only noises to be heard was the clicking of John at the keyboard, typing up their latest completed case, as well the bustling traffic outside.

"Stop that."

The silence breaks and John's typing ceases.

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking to Sherlock whose eyes have opened and hands relaxed onto his belly.

"Stop thinking." Sherlock says bluntly and straightens himself in his chair.

Today had been a lazy day for them both. Sherlock was still in his pajamas and John was in some worn out jeans and an old shirt. Naturally, Sherlock's shirt rides up just a bit as he turned himself right-side up in the chair, exposing but a teasing wink of his pale abdomen. 

"I'm not thinking." John responds, and resumes typing, earning him a tired sigh from Sherlock.

"We need a case." The detective whines, getting up to go in the direction of the kitchen.

John saved his latest draft before shutting his laptop, abandoning it in favor of watching the taller man rise and walk barefoot towards the kettle.

"It's only been three days Sherlock, take a break for once." John says but Sherlock brushes the comment aside and drew water. 

Taking out two cups, he states, "Breaks are boring." 

"Yes, but a break is nice every once in a while, and it _has_  been a while." John states as he came off his chair to claim a teabag of English Breakfast for himself.  

Sherlock sniffs, "The last one was too easy, I need something better." 

The latest cases came and went within a few hours to a few days' time. Their most recent case was concerned with missing children turning up dead in random places across London. Sherlock was able, within one crime-scene visit, to establish that the children were being murdered in the orphanage by a man who had committed suicide that morning. 

John removed the paper packaging of his tea and drops the bag into the mug, "Why don't you clean out the fridge, the mold in the back has been there for weeks."

"Already did." Sherlock responded simply, "The mold wasn't from an experiment but I was happy enough to clean it." 

The kettle whistled, and John brought the boiling water over the bags of tea. 

He offered Sherlock a prepared cup as he spoke quietly, "Every case is going to be too easy for you... But if you ever get yourself into a hard one it will only put yourself in danger."

Before Sherlock could respond with something witty, a muffled *ding* sounded from under one of the couch cushions. 

"A case!" Sherlock yells excitedly, running passed John who almost spilled his hot tea. The taller man skimmed the message and darted into the bedroom to dress. 

"We've got a runner!" He yells to John, who had abandoned the tea and was now rushing to get on his shoes. Sherlock never disappoints at the speed at which he dresses, exactly one minute to put on a pair of trousers, a clean shirt, button every button and tie his shoes. John was slower, needing a moment to flip a jumper inside-out. 

Snatching their coats off the rack, they were out the door, nearly forgetting to lock it, and running down the block, yelling for a cab. The cabby was confused by the rush but Sherlock promises to pay double if they could get to Scotland Yard in half the time. This was enough motivation to send them down the streets at a speed that made John sick.

 

A grey-haired and exhausted DI Lestrade was not surprised to see Sherlock running into his office, ready for a case.

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded, slightly out of breath but buzzing with energy. John ran in moments later, needing a few moments to collect himself. 

"Hello to you too." Lestrade answers sourly, sipping at his cheap coffee that did little to increase his energy.

"Our squad cars lost him but we've got the approximate location of where he might be headed. If you can assure his location, then we'll even pay you for your trouble." 

"Wait, we were called in, with an urgent text, just to assure where the damn criminal is?" John asks and Sherlock sighs, "There was an additional text, saying that in the location where he's run off too, there is a crime scene where there is a suspected ally hiding a series of dead bodies. It is important we have this case, John." Sherlock says and continues to analyze a map on the computer. 

After a few moments of pregnant and unsure silence, the detective stood up from the computer, "We'll take the case." Sherlock says, putting on his gloves. 

Bidding Lestrade goodbye and running back down to the lift, John followed the other man as they went down and out the building again. John was barely keeping speed until Sherlock says they would need to run the rest of the way.

"You have to be bloody kidding me!" John protests, continuing to try and keep pace. 

Sherlock takes in a breath, "They would suspect us in a squad car, it would be safer and more efficient to run." 

John stopped them both, pulling Sherlock to face him, "Who are we chasing, so far I'm just running around with you like a dog!" 

The other man sighed in exasperation, "I promise to explain later, right now I need you to follow me." Sherlock took in another preparing breath before taking off in a dead sprint up the street. John, containing all of his anger, followed as instructed. 

The two ran, as hard and fast as they could. The heat of the case growing with every approaching step and Sherlock thanking his adrenaline for powering through so much running. John was a slow wreck, getting tired quickly but willing himself to keep up with Sherlock. He secretly hoped that his speed was not noticed by the more active and excited Sherlock. 

They slowed as they came close to the area Sherlock assumed the criminal would be. John was wheezing, unable to breathe for a few moments as Sherlock exhales a few quick huffs as they now walked.

"He's here." Sherlock says quietly, taking off his gloves and shoving them into his pockets. The early winter air was nippy and John could feel it on his nose and cheeks. He looks to Sherlock, whose cheeks and nose have also grown rosy. 

 _Goddamn this man! How does he manage to look so collected!_ John thought to himself.

Although Sherlock looked a slightly more tired, he'd still managed to compose himself enough to hide what they had just endured. 

"Where is he?" John asks, observing their surroundings. Sherlock motions to a building up ahead, an apartment complex. John notices a sketchy man circling the entrance, nearly blending in with the density of people that walked passed it.

"Is he waiting for someone?" John asks and the other man nods as he casually leans against the wall. John took a glance behind him as he turned to face the detective.

John observed the way Sherlock's flushed cheeks only seemed to deepen in color, the thrill of the chase overriding Sherlock's composition. His dark and curly hair bounced with the slight breeze of the air, and a single drop of sweat glistened as it rolled off the side of his face.

"Start a conversation" Sherlock says, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. John was momentarily stunned, quickly thrown off from his previous train of thought. 

"Why?" John asks, turning to glance at the man lurking at the entrance again, who's now taken notice of Sherlock's and John's presence.

"Just do it" Sherlock hisses and takes a puff of the cigarette. John turns to Sherlock and randomly thinks of something extremely typical for a guy to say.

"What'd you think about the match last night?"

"Quite intriguing, I didn't know that they'd win, coming from such a low scoring background." Sherlock replies and exhales smoke. His focus had been diverted from the man and onto John but one eye kept looking out of its corner until a car pulled up to the entrance. A red haired woman emerged and greeted the suspected man with a warm hug. 

"That's the next victim" Sherlock states and throws the cigarette away. John looks over to see the couple walking into the complex and when he turns back to Sherlock, he was gone and jogging up to the building. 

 

Sherlock knew for sure this was the next victim. He would end this killing spree today and he doesn't care what it takes.

Once inside, the receptionist at the counter was warm and welcomes Sherlock, "Hello Sir, how can I help you?" 

"Hello, I'm sorry but I left my key in my room and I was wondering if you might have a spare one for me?" Sherlock asks politely, his voice sickeningly sweet but indicating he was rushed. When the receptionist asks for the room number, he replies with the victim's.

"Thank you." Sherlock says, and begins to run up the stairs. John was following but his energy continued to fade. 

As Sherlock approached the room, he could hear struggling and the shuffling of feet. He quickly unlocks the door and finds the man tying the red-haired woman a noose around their neck. A knife lay bloodied on the carpet next to her body.  

The man, surprised, jumps up and finds the nearest window where he leaps onto the neighboring roof.

"John! Call 999, I need to catch him" Sherlock yells and John, though hesitant, sets to work to stabilize the stab wounds on the woman.

Sherlock jumps out the same window to land on the roof, feeling a jolt of pain in his heels. Once he caught sight of the fleeing criminal, he ignores it and continued after him.

Taking out his concealed gun, they were jumping from rooftop to rooftop, climbing up ladders onto chimney funnels. In a few moments, they had found themselves on the roof of a cargo truck. 

 

John didn't need to call 999 because the paramedics ran in as soon as he unwrapped the victim from her ropes.

Running out of the apartment complex, John and gets out his phone. There was a tracker on Sherlock's, for reasons like this when he suddenly runs off.

Sherlock was already a mile and a half away, his little blue circle still on the move. John takes off towards the next intersection that Sherlock should reach and hails a cab. 

 

Sherlock and the criminal were trapped on the roof of a truck. A stand-off was about to occur and the other man had no weapon. Sherlock uses this to his advantage.

"Why did you kill all those women?" He asks, and the man looks at him with absolute evil in his eyes. "My boss wasn't fond of them and didn't think they were worthy of living."

"And why doesn't your boss admire them?" Sherlock asks but the man shrugs and keeps a smug face.

"Why should I care, it's making me good money." 

 

John sees them. 

_Them?!_

Sherlock and the said criminal were on the roof of a sixteen wheeler.

All the blood from John's body seemed to go down to his feet. His hands became cold and his face was pale.

"Follow that truck." He instructs the cab driver, flashing his badge. 

 

Sherlock takes notice of the cab following straight behind the truck. From his lack of concentration, the criminal takes a swing and punches Sherlock straight in the jaw.

The gun goes clattering over the edge of the truck and lands on the asphalt below. Sherlock had fallen backwards, completely and utterly surprised. He regains his posture only to receive another blow that makes him fall in the direction of the edge. His heart was beating incredibly fast, every beat echoing in his ears, but the criminal was relentless and continued to strike him.  

 

John watches as Sherlock continues to fail in defending himself from the killer. His body was very close to the edge and John couldn't bear to watch.

"Is there any way of stopping that truck?" He asks the driver who looks to him with a worried look.

"There is, but don't arrest me for it." He says and continues to explain how he has a radio transmitter typically used by truckers.

Presented with the transmitter, John dials holds down the buttons and shoves the receiver into his ear.

"Is this truck number 4201?" He asks and hears brief static before a clear, "Yes, how may I help you?".

"Stop your vehicle now, you have a criminal and one of my officers having a brawl on your trailer." John yells. The truck begins to pull over onto the side of the road. The cab following. 

 

Sherlock doesn't know what to think when he feels the truck suddenly moving to the side of the road, he dreads that the criminal may jump off and continue running.

The criminal did as predicted, lunging himself off the trailer of the truck and taking off down the pavement. Sherlock swings himself over the trailer and continued to follow. 

 

John briefly thanks the driver for allowing the free chase and use of the transmitter before taking off behind Sherlock.

John takes out his gun and waits for the criminal to jump over a sign before firing a single round.

The shot rang through the whole street and Sherlock turns to notice. The shot only grazes the criminal's ankle with no effect.

The three continue the chase down the sidewalk and John trying to aim well enough to finally get the man in the leg.

John's adrenaline was running high and it was the only way he was still keeping pace with Sherlock, who had slowed.

Sherlock stops completely, seeing the squad cars blocking off the criminal at the next intersection. Lights and sirens were going off and John was so relieved to see that the chase was over. 

 

Sherlock was doubled over in immense pain, his head and chest felt as though there were going to explode but he was amazed at the criminal's perseverance.

The criminal was relentless, and on some sort of high that kept him powering through the chase and injury from jumping rooftops and truck trailers. The world was slightly askew but the throbbing headache was passing. Sherlock could feel John's angry glare on him. 

 

John had his arms crossed and the gun safely tucked away in the belt of his jeans. He was furious with Sherlock, mainly because of all the deadly things he'd just done, taking no mind of himself and allowing himself to nearly get a concussion. He understands that the usual rant would not pierce the detective's thick skull and he would need to brainstorm a different way of getting his anger across.

 

Sherlock could tell John was angry with him, but he smirks and says, "Well that one really took a blow to the head, right John?"

Even though he didn't solve it or put the brain power into it, he felt happy just being able to catch one like this, on foot.

"We need to talk." John says, with the voice Sherlock fears so much, the kind that sent chills down his back and his hairs stand on end.

Sherlock looks down to his feet sheepishly and did not dare to make eye contact with John the rest of the way home. 

 

John knew that Sherlock felt guilty for doing what he's done, but he did not think that it was right to lay the detective off. The fury that he had been containing since 'day one' only boiled more every time Sherlock did something like this to them.

But John could not let himself burst yet. He had to wait two hours before Lestrade could finish up paper-work and assure that things were correct for when the case reaches court. In the cab, Sherlock had an ice-pack under his jaw and was completely ignoring John. 

 

In the flat, Sherlock was practically shaking, not knowing what to expect from John. He hated not knowing what would happen.

He was panicking now, every step up the stairs was bringing him one step closer to whatever John will do with him.

Sherlock was afraid, a new feeling for him, which stemmed from his uncertainty.

He precariously hung his coat on the rack rather than throwing it onto his chair like he usually does, and goes into the kitchen to take a cold bag of peas from the freezer to replace his melted ice pack. 

 

John was so sure of what he will do with Sherlock when they finally shut the door to the flat. He had been conspiring in the cab and now he wants to put this plan into action.

He watches Sherlock go to get something else that was colder for his bruised jaw and watched Sherlock's legs tremble as he sat very cautiously in one of the dining chairs. He faced away from the table and his head was down, the same way a dog would try to conceal itself away from guilt. 

John hung his coat and stood in front of Sherlock, his arms crossed and with a firm lip. He would not dare to break the authority he had over Sherlock now, a smile or the slackening of the shoulders would mean complete and utter failure. John felt lucky to have experienced the military, which hardened up his heart in situations like this.

"Sherlock." John acknowledges the detective, who glanced up with pleading eyes before blinking them back to look at his shoes.

"Do you know what you've done wrong?" John asks, his voice hard and filled with a harsher authority. Sherlock nodded weakly.

"I want you to speak." John orders and Sherlock replies, "Yes."

"From now on, when you are being punished you will address me as 'Sir'." John says, bending down to meet Sherlock's face. Sherlock nods and John swats at him. Not too hard, but enough to sting. There was a surprised "Ugh" and the crack of a voice.

"Yes _Sir._ " Sherlock emphasizes clearly. 

"You understand that you must be punished." John says, making it clear that it was a statement and not a question.

"I understand Sir." Sherlock answers, his feet shuffling but John steps on one, putting his full weight on it and Sherlock cringing.

"You will be absolutely still when I am addressing you." John says and releases Sherlock's foot.

"You will also look. at. me." John spits and yanks Sherlock's head up to look him straight in the eyes.

Sherlock was a mess, completely confused with John's sudden change in demeanor, but Sherlock seemed to understand enough that this was part of a punishment that he had caused for himself.

"Yes Sir." Sherlock pleads, his eyes begging to stop. But John had only begun.

"Do you know how I will punish you today?" John asks and gets a shake of the head.

John pulls at Sherlock's ear hard enough to paint it a flushed red.

"I said, ' _Do you know how I will punish you today?'"_ and this gets Sherlock into saying, "No Sir".

John was quite pleased with himself, knowing that he now had Sherlock under his thumb. Sherlock looked to be sweating profusely, his beautiful black curls sticking to his forehead from the anxiety of his current position.

"We're going to do it like they did to me in primary school. A good ol' proper spanking." John says as he sits down on the couch with Sherlock's ear still between his fingers.

He could feel Sherlock go very cold and his pulse rising from the sheer amount of panic.

 _'So Sherlock_ _**does**_ _know what the pain of a spanking feels like',_ he muses.

John pulls Sherlock over his knee and prepares his hand.

"For everything you did wrong today, you will receive one slap. In the future, your punishment will be determined by your behavior." John says sternly. He receives a, "Yes Sir" in reply.

"Today, we will be also accounting for what you've done from the last case before this one." 

Sherlock was evidently shaking, his body preparing itself for whatever may be coming its way.  

 "Are you ready?" John asks, one hand raised and the other holding down Sherlock in the small of his back. "Yes Sir". 

"Last time, you disobeyed me when I told you NOT to fire on the chase." John holds Sherlock steady as he gives a good slap to the bottom. This makes Sherlock curl his toes, but he remained silent.

"Today, you ran off, leaving me with the near dying victim." Another swat, directed upwards which bore down harder on the man over John's knee.

"You were jumping from building to building." John slaps down hard, causing for Sherlock to take in a very deep breath.

John was making sure this was hurting. He was still furious from the previous case and he needed Sherlock to know that.

"Today, you jumped onto a moving truck." He swats Sherlock again. In response the detective reached for their union jack pillow. Sherlock stuffs his face into it as John continued to list on.

John's arm was beginning to tire from the force of his slaps and he looks around quickly; cursing that he should have been more prepared. Magically,  Sherlock's wooden hairbrush was on the stand nearby and it seemed appropriate for the last couple blows. 

"Today, you allowed for the criminal to beat you to a near concussion." John let this hit sting as he threw down the hairbrush. Sherlock yelps into the pillow at the surprise of this new tool that's replaced John's hand. 

For the final blows, John makes his statement, "You have me worried sick about you. How could you possibly allow for that happen for someone who cares so much about you?" He asks and makes this sentence be drawn out with five blows.

The first came with a yelp, the second came with a whine, the third  had Sherlock burying himself further into the pillow. The fourth was silent and the fifth came the hardest. John struck Sherlock so hard on his backside that Sherlock cries out, his head coming out the pillow and his body surging forward to escape the pain. There was a high pitched whine that followed when Sherlock dropped his head back into the pillow. 

John gets Sherlock's legs off of him and he approaches his face, holding the hairbrush threateningly high which makes Sherlock recoil and look to him with glassy eyes.

"Do you understand now?" John asks, allowing this sternness to wash away along with the clatter of the hairbrush when Sherlock answers with a choked, "Yes Sir". 

Sherlock couldn't take it, he was surprised that John nearly reduced him to tears with just being strict but with the added spanking _,_ it drove him to sobbing on the final blow.

It was the hardest he'd ever been punished since primary school but with less humility. He understood that today, he deserved it.

John let the hairbrush fall and the softness in his voice returns which makes Sherlock cry even more. 

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but you needed to learn." John spoke softly and Sherlock replies, "I know Sir."

"You can stop now, punishment is over." 

To much of Sherlock's relief, he stifled his tears which only seemed to continue falling.

"Sherlock?" He heard John say quietly. "Are you alright?" John asks.

Sherlock could sense how much John regretted doing this, but he understood that what he did was right. Sherlock had put himself in danger, completely ignoring the fact that John worries for him so much to begin with.

John rested his hand gently on Sherlock's shoulder before asking, "Want me to get you into bed? Hug it out? Comfort you until everything's fine again?" 

Sherlock considered that having John close to him, feeling his warmth, was just what he needed. Despite what had just happened, John was the only person in the world he could trust to do this for him.

Still feeling ashamed, Sherlock allowed for himself to be lifted up from the couch and directed into towards his bedroom.

Sherlock immediately takes to digging his face into his pillow again, out of shame and self-pity. He felt a weight settling next to him and feels John's arm lightly patting him. 

Sherlock allows for John to take the pillow out from under his face but it doesn't stop him from letting the last of his tears fall. He held tightly to John's shirt as shivers continued to make him tremble.

 

John was now beginning to consider that he hurt his and Sherlock's relationship. A completely different side of him took over, one that even he did not often see.

Sherlock was curled up into John so tightly, he was afraid the detective might be choking. Sherlock was letting the last of his tears fall, but John did mind.

It was entertaining to see how much of show Sherlock really puts on. He makes himself out to be incredibly cold and superior, but within closed walls; the man was as soft, kind and vulnerable as everyone else... Perhaps more. 

John begins to stroke lightly at Sherlock's back, feeling every wave shivers take over the other man's body. The action made Sherlock relax, and loosen his tightened muscles.

 

As Sherlock felt John's delicate touch, the waves of shivers were replaced with warmth and the pain on his backside subsided.

He was already limp and tired from today's chase and was completely at John's mercy the moment they walked into the flat. Now, Sherlock allowed for the last of his energy to be used in positioning himself in a way that had his entire body pressed up against the other man's. John's warmth was something to enjoy and not to be taken for granted. The greater benefit was that John seemed unbothered by this action, and allowed it happen.

He allows for Sherlock to put a leg between his knees when Sherlock decides to hug back.

Sherlock could feel John smiling above him when his chin was placed atop his head of curls. 

Everything was going swimmingly, having John so close. But Sherlock felt himself beginning to drift off, and so he snaps himself awake.

 _'I can't sleep, how embarrassing that would be!'_ Sherlock thinks to himself. But John's hand moves to his head, beginning to pet the tired man's head. Had it not been for that, Sherlock would've stayed awake, but he was soon taken under without protest. 

 

John could feel Sherlock trying to keep himself awake, but truthfully, John was the one trying to get him to sleep.

"It's alright, you can sleep. It doesn't bother me" John assures, but he felt both of them could use a shower _. S_ weaty and tired from the day's adventures, it would help them both rest and recharge. 

But John found it more appropriate to allow Sherlock these moments of safety, security and comfort. 

As Sherlock's trembling subsided and his breath grew even, John safely assumed that he'd successfully put the man to sleep.

He rested himself atop the detective, smelling just hints of shampoo and cologne, but finding that they both smelled overwhelmingly of London and the thrill of the chase. 

It was no mystery that this feeling between them was mutual. Sherlock seemed to find it comforting, and John continued to contemplate how far to take this.

But none of it mattered just yet, they still a great long time ahead of them to decide boundaries. But for now, the detective slept, and John dozed.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is punished again for another stupid thing he does.

The next day, John and Sherlock tried to forget about the events of the night before. Sherlock had gotten another case and was happily seeing to it. Due to the force of last night's punishment- sitting down wasn't the most comfortable option. Sherlock proceeded with caution approaching his chair but often opted to stand. John had noticed, and immediately felt guilty.

"Here." John says, putting a small tube of creme into Sherlock's hand when he stood at his board of resources.

"What's this?" Sherlock asks, looking at the label but unable to deduce what it was.

"It'll help with the pain." John says but Sherlock rejects the creme, "I've learned my lesson, at least allow me to suffer through the rest of it."

John has put up with an uncooperative Sherlock for a long while, and oftentimes had to settle for whatever the detective demanded. John does everything with good intentions, and sometimes people like Sherlock fail to understand why. Sherlock is always too wrapped up in cases and probably wouldn't care the slightest about his own needs until they were solved. John put himself in the position to make sure the man kept himself alive.

 

John had to go to the clinic today and Sherlock was left to his own devices to try and solve their case. It was elaborate, all the victims were blonde women who had a history of working in the police force or army-reserves.

 _A kink?_ Sherlock thinks and rereads the transcript from a witness interview.

His thoughts were interrupted with a text from Lestrade to meet him at an address, with a promise of another victim.

Sherlock forgets his pains and leaves for said address, the whole cab ride was very uncomfortable, constantly shifting his weight and trying to keep himself off his back side. The driver even asked if he was alright but Sherlock was quick to silence him.

John was already at the scene when Sherlock walked in, apparently Lestrade texted them both at the same time.

"Hey! Feeling better?" John asks publicly. Sherlock glares.

Lestrade regards them both with a "Huh?"

"Sherlock wasn't feeling well after yesterdays chase, got a headache and a bit sore so I don't know if he'd be up to par for the case this morning..." John said quickly, rescuing them from a possibly longer conversation. 

"I'm fine." Sherlock snapped to Lestrade, who continued to bicker about the messiness of yesterday's case. 

Sherlock and John invited themselves onto the crime scene, both of them observing the mess before them. 

The victim was another blonde woman, killed by strangulation with what looked like a wire coat hanger. The window to the room was ajar, suggesting the killer escaped through it.

John went to observe the bruises on the neck while Sherlock approaches the window.

There was a lack of scuff marks going down the building, and a lack of them from coming in. The window itself is small and no one would be able to get through without allowing their legs to come through first. 

He peers out the window, looking at the walls around it and noticing the proximity of the fire escape close to the window. The stairs leading down were closed but the ones coming up were open.

Sherlock manages to get his tall frame out the tiny window and began to climb up the fire escapes that lead to the roof. 

 

John had noticed that it had become suddenly quiet, and he looks up to find no Sherlock.

"God damn him." John curses and begins to look in every nook and cranny before hearing the clanging of shoe on metal.

He rushes to the window before seeing the flapping of a dark coat disappear up the fire escape.

 

Sherlock is confronted by a man seated on the roof with a gun in hand, a gleam in his eye, and a crooked smile.

"I always wanted to be caught by the great Sherlock Holmes. I've heard a lot about you." The man says with a heavy accent, indefinitely foreign to England.

"Do you like my handy work? Took me a bit to sum up a profile, but I manage quite nicely with some creativity." The man continues. Sherlock wasn't interested in any of it and he desperately wished John was there as extra support. But, he was alone on the rooftop with a psychotic killer.  

"Why did you kill those women?" Sherlock asks, stalling the conversation so that he could buy time for Lestrade and John to realize where he was.

"I've got a sick and twisted mind like you. I get off on uniformed women as you do on murders." The man stood to his full height, a towering six feet five inches with incredibly broad shoulders, fat arms and a beer belly that jutted out from a tight belt. Sherlock was immediately intimidated, comparing himself to man half a head taller and three times wider than himself. 

"Yes well, how would you know I get off on those sorts of things?" Sherlock gulps, genuinely feeling fear rip into every blood vessel.

"Like I said, I hear so much about you." The larger man says simply and drawing his gun at Sherlock.

"I thought you wanted to get caught." Sherlock asks, feeling himself grow paler.

The bigger man smiles, "And I have, but who said anything about letting you live?" 

Sherlock dives under the man as a shot rings out. He takes off to the nearest telephone pole. He jumps across the space between the pole and the building and begins to climb down. The bigger man took his aim again and shot at Sherlock but misses by a hair. Sherlock prays the jump isn't too high but is dearly disappointed when he lets go and feels the distance to be longer than expected.

The impact on the pavement below crumbles him, but he was quick to regain composure. He sees the bigger man coming after him through the fire escapes. Sherlock runs again, down the block, and in hopes of finding a place to hide for long enough to phone John and hopefully find something as a weapon.

 

John's heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he hears the  sound of a shot being fired. He was out the door when he sees Sherlock running at top speed down the sidewalk and shots ringing in every direction. There was someone after him and John took his gun out as he followed Sherlock's path of running. He manages to spot the detective running into an alleyway then turning into a busy intersection. 

 _Smart Man_ John thinks.

"Sherlock!" He yells, making the detective turn.

Someone from behind grabs his face and begins to smother his muffled shouts with a cloth.

John was utterly dumb struck, someone was attacking Sherlock and another trying to kidnap him. 

Without hesitation, John aims and fires. He misses the detective but hits the attacker square in the shoulder.

 

Sherlock was unaware of the person behind him until he felt a cloth being held over his mouth, the smells of sedatives filling his nostrils. John's voice was something of an angel cry and he was thankful for his presence. A shot rang and his attacker fell to the ground. Sherlock was shakily standing upright, the sedatives being very strong and nearly collapsing into John who was already struggling to keep him upright. The police had already gotten to the man on the roof, with the other being dragged away. 

 

"Hey, hey, hey, don't pass out now, we've got the guy, please stay awake." John coaxing Sherlock to stay alert but whatever was on that cloth must have been strong.

"I'll be alright in a minute, it's wearing off" Sherlock mumbles into John's chest. Police officers began to encircle the man with the cloth who was doubled over in pain with the shot in his shoulder. John requests a quick smell of the cloth before it was to be taken for evidence. 

"Nitrous Oxide... Laughing gas." John verifies and Sherlock had now regained himself.

"If it's laughing gas then why am I not giggling?" He asks, John was only relieved to have him in one piece.

"It's only a nickname, Sherlock... The gas is essentially anesthesia, powerful enough to keep you awake and indispensable but not enough to put someone completely out." 

"I love it when you talk dirty to me." Sherlock jokes but John was not amused, "You won't like what I've got to say when we get home." 

 

It wasn't until they were back in 221B did John ask for Sherlock to go over his knee. 

"What?!" Sherlock exclaims, "We're making this a regular thing? Since when?"

John sighs, "Since now, I am the Captain now and you do as I say or I punish you extra."

Sherlock was not enthusiastic about the whole thing, he wanted nothing to do with the spanking today, especially because he was still sore from the day before. 

"But what did I do wrong?" Sherlock asks, grumbling like a small child.

"Get over my knee and you'll find out." John says, using Sherlock's curiosity against him.

The man had no choice and approached John with a sour look. He adjusted himself on John's lap so that his rear was at the correct angle for this new way of punishment. John had gone for the hairbrush straight away and gently tapped it on Sherlock's rear as test. Sherlock flinches at the contact and braced himself.

"You've broken a few of the known rules." John says, planting a solid whack on the up-swing. John could see how his toes curled in frustration and pain.

"...Such as carrying a weapon with you at all times. Did you or did you not have a weapon with you?" John asks and Sherlock shakes his head, earning him a stinging hit on the upper cheeks.

"You've broken a rule again. How will you be answering my questions?" John demands, but Sherlock was already hurting from yesterday's thrashing.

"I would be answering your questions, 'Yes Sir',Sir." Sherlock says, bracing for the next hit. It came down with greater force, stinging and bruising what was already there. Sherlock's hands balled into fists, drawing out any relief he could. 

"Now answer my question, did you or did you not have a weapon on you today?" John says sternly, the brush high and ready for the next blow.

"No Sir." Sherlock says weakly and moans in pain when the next hit had registered.

"You went off to catch another one without any support." John brings the brush down thrice for this reason. Sherlock was beginning to wriggle, trying to escape but John holds him down strongly as he delivers another blow; right in the center of Sherlock's buttocks and on top of a healing bruise.

Sherlock groans loudly, every muscle in his body suddenly paralyzed as the pain came. He'd lurched forward, burying his face into the couch as the pain only continued to come.

"These are the last ones." John said, his voice cold and merciless, "You know how much I care for you and love you, but you continue to disrespect my wishes and pleas for your safety and life. I'm only doing this for your own good so you could learn."

John delivers what had been promised, three excruciatingly hurtful blows on healing and sensitive bruises that would surely leave welts. By now, Sherlock was crying and trembling. He was in a lot of pain and discomfort. John removes himself from under Sherlock, abandoning the brush and coming to be level with the detective's face.

"Please Sherlock, I'm only trying to help." John said, rubbing the other man's shoulder but Sherlock was unresponsive, still riding out the pain elicited by the hand of someone he trusts.

John was washed over with sympathy and offers his open arms to the other man, "Come here, I'll get you into bed." Immediately, Sherlock gave up and accepted John's embrace.

The two were safely in Sherlock's bed, clutching to John as waves of trembling pain were ripping through his nerves. Words of tenderness were exchanged, but Sherlock continued to sob into John's shirt.

Between the sniffling and breathy tears, Sherlock manages a, "Thank You."

John acknowledges by rubbing is stubby fingers across Sherlock's back. The detective's next action absolutely baffles John. 

He came closer, burying himself in the crease between John's neck and shoulder, allowing a slow and quiet moan to vibrate in his throat.

"You like that hmm?" John adds, suppressing a giggle. Sherlock nods, his body becoming heavy with relaxation.

"This is quite nice." Sherlock says, his voice still thick from tears but he was so comfortably nestled up in John's side, that he began allow himself to be seen. He exposes half of his face. His cheeks were flushed with pink and eyes red and puffy from tears. 

Then, John realizes something. Sherlock has never physically or verbally expressed his desire for touch, for affection. He'd always seal himself away, and avoid it at all costs to maintain his stoic and cold demeanor. It seems that by John's encouragement, the man had softened, that the barrier had been cracked and before them was a myriad of possibilities.  

John knew Sherlock was asleep when he draped his legs over him. This had become a recognizable trait and John simply let it be.

The phone rings and Sherlock wakes with an irritated sniff, he fishes for his phone in his pocket and answers with a sleepy, "Hello?" there was a distorted voice on the other end, yelling incoherently. Sherlock hangs up without another word and returns his phone into his pocket. 

"Who was that?" John asks and Sherlock shrugs, "Lestrade, he called to scold me but I think I've had enough for now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ecounters one of the most gruesome crime-scenes he's seen, he is afraid of the case and afraid of what he may find

For a week, there was no case. Sherlock was going mad and got small smacks on the backside for stroppiness from John. Sherlock for everything and anything to keep himself occupied but no matter what, he remained without anything and was at his wits end. 

One misty morning, Sherlock had just woken up and was sipping at cold tea before his phone went off with a text. It was a short one from Lestrade with only an address to go to and, "Be here! Too much to explain."

This struck to him as odd, details were usually in all the texts Lestrade sent him. He replies with, "Thirty minutes." before going to wake up John.

He stomps up into John's room and shakes him. The other man woke with a moan, "What the fuck?"

"Case." Sherlock replies simply before returning downstairs. He hears John curse a few more times but nonetheless, he had gotten himself out of bed.

Sherlock showers quickly, shaves, dresses and drank warmer coffee as he waited for John. John followed after him with the same routine, carrying a buscuit with him as he dressed and eventually a handful of them as they went out the door.

The air was warmer today than it had been previously. Sherlock adamantly wore his scarf as John unzipped his jacket, welcoming the warmth.

At the corner of the street, Sherlock hails a cab. He showed the driver the address in the text.

The cab driver suddenly stiffens and Sherlock quickly took notice. 

"The driver isn't too thrilled to take us there." Sherlock whispers to John, who stole a glance between words,

"I'm not thrilled either, it's unusual that Lestrade texted you with no information. What if it's not a case and you're walking into a trap?" 

"It's not a trap" Sherlock snaps.

"You should re-think that mate." The driver speaks up. At a stoplight, he turns to face the two of them and offers a hand to shake, "Wilson." he introduces himself, John and Sherlock shook hands with him. 

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asks, John pressing a hand on his knee to keep him at bay.

The light turned green and the cab drive eyed them through the rear-view mirror.

"The address is well-known. An older woman lives there, she cares for the disabled and elderly that have been thrown in the streets. She frequents bars for homeless men who she pays to help maintain her house and errands." 

"How do you know all this?" Sherlock presses.

"I drove her once, not too long ago either, about a week ago. She told me about herself, her line of work and such." The cab driver turned away from London into it's suburbs. The city grew away into small streets with old houses and neglected yards, but Sherlock's attention was focused elsewhere.

"So why'd you go stiff?" John asks this time.

The cab driver was hesitant. He spoke slowly and was careful of his word choice, "I read in the newspapers that many of the woman's clients, disabled men and women, sometimes ill elderly, report missing from her home. One of the women I knew, she used to live in the same flat as I did and was admitted to a hospital to help with her disability. She was checked out by that woman because she could no longer afford the hospital."

"Name of the woman who checked her out?" John asks and the cab pulls up to the house. 

"Lucy Love" He says, John pays and Sherlock asks one more question, "Physical description". "Thin, pale, grey cropped hair, light eyes. She's got a few teeth missing in the front and these enormous earrings; I think they're gold and given to her from her husband, they're like a family heirloom given to her after her husband died".

Without another word, Sherlock allows the cab to speed away, turning to face a gloomy, rotting, and misshapen house. Yellow police tape was wrapped around the property and forensic teams walked in and out of the home. 

Sherlock spots Lestrade and approaches him, "Any information?" Sherlock asks and Lestrade relays the same information the cab driver had given to him about the woman and the property. "There's a body dump behind the house, we've recovered two bodies and working on a third" the Chief of Police said, "We didn't touch anything inside, hoping you could shed some light on this mess". 

John was at Sherlock's side, "Show us the body dump" he says and Sherlock follows Lestrade around the house, taking in the details of mold, mushrooms and overall decomposing matter surrounding the home. There was an eerie feel to the whole place, as though it was unholy ground. Sherlock was never superstitious but right now, he felt like he's desecrating someone's final resting place. 

At the back of the house, forensics were picking through a hole in the ground, examining everything they find. An orange bucket stood close-by with bones, string tied with a label reading, "Femur". 

"How old are these bodies?" John bent down to ask the forensic team, "Considering the body was never embalmed, poorly wrapped in garbage bags, I'd say a few months for this one, the other two are maybe a few years" One of them say, holding a wrist bone, "This soil is also very moist, any decomposing agents like mushrooms, insects and worms had gotten all the flesh off and any bones remaining look like this" Another one says, holding up a bone from a finger, the bone was discolored yellow-brown. "Thank you, we'll take a look inside" John says. 

He turns to the face the detective who was staring intensely into the bucket of remains, "Hey" John asks, touching Sherlock's upper-arm. "What's wrong?" He asks and Sherlock snaps from his trance. "Nothing, let's go inside". 

Once in the house, Lestrade allowed them alone as John and Sherlock inspected the kitchen, there was nothing in the fridge but spoiled milk, half-green lunchmeat and medicines. The cabinets and pantry were empty, and the sink was stained with god-knows what. 

A smell hung in the air, one that Sherlock knew well but couldn't place. The living room was extremely drab, with a worn couch, an old tv and floral wallpaper that was peeling. The china cabinet was very dusty and the windows were clouded. The whole property was moist and Sherlock had to wipe a sheen of sweat off his forehead. He bent over, examining the chair legs of the table, finding nothing. 

Cold fear shook Sherlock's body, a feeling in his gut told him not to go further. He felt his face turn whiter as he moved through the house, inspecting details and objects. Letters for a search warrant lay in a bowl at the front door, all were unopened or ripped. It was law that if after a certain amount of notices, police had every right to come. Some of the mail was almost a year old and Sherlock could only infer that this house was still running, as there were oil stains and stains from tea or juice. 

"Sherlock" John beckons and he turns, "There's a staircase upstairs". Sherlock approaches his friend, the same smell only becoming more intense. He fought his gag reflex as he looked down at the stairs and scrutinized the dust and mud-stains. 

"Are you alright?" John asks again and Sherlock shook his head again, "Sherlock, it is so obvious that you aren't, what is happening in that brilliant head of yours?" John presses as Sherlock took a few steps up the stairs. 

He took a breath, deciding to ignore John as he continued up the stairs. The smell grew stronger, making the detective give up and gag. He put up his scarf over his nose and mouth.

There was a long hallway, all of the doors were closed. Old and faded photographs lined the walls, one of them was of a young woman in her twenties, from the twenties, with a man about her age holding a baby in front of this very house, sparkling new with tulips and a floral curtains. John had his gun out, cautiously moving behind the detective.

To Sherlock, time was slowing down- the photographs aged up; the same couple with a child, about eight years old, playing with a wooden truck near a Christmas tree, a man smoking a pipe as he was putting together another toy. The woman was with her child, playing with another baby. Sherlock looked to the opposite wall, more photographs of the same couple, now with their two kids, one about fifteen and another about seven, a birthday with pastries, a dog, and date at the bottom right of the photo, written in a water-based ink: September 16, 1938. 

John was opening the doors, following Sherlock who was very slowly looking at everything. This struck to him as odd, but with the amount of focus put into each photograph he examined, John could figure that the man was getting every detail, everything on the history of this house. John went to the first door, his gun drawn as he turned the doorknob and pointed the barrel into the room. The curtains were drawn and the room was clean. He continued on. 

Sherlock kept looking at the photographs, the couple now with drawn faces and smiling next to a tall young man; their son, smiling and leaning against a brand new automobile, the date was April 13, 1950. A young woman stood close by, holding a document, obviously for the purchase of the vehicle. Sherlock continued to move, his mind piecing together the history of this home. There were then graduation photos, one of the young woman, and one of the young man. There were no names printed at the bottom like graduation photos traditionally would. Sherlock took the photograph of the young woman and turned it over, the name perfectly typed, "Lucy Love Class of 1949". The young man's photo read "Jeremy Love Class of 1941".

John watched Sherlock turn two photographs over, his face reading no concentration but more of shocked curiosity. John continued inspecting the rooms, finding them all empty.

Sherlock finally came to the end of the hall, a final photograph of an elderly couple, with their two children, with children and a smile on their face. At the end of the hall were two final rooms, Sherlock warily looked into the first at this left. The door was ajar and the room was well lit, a small study with books, a desk and certificates of ownership hanging on the wall. A diploma hung on the wall, one of them had "Jeremy Love" printed on it, from a medical school and the other was the same medical school, with "Lucy Love" printed.

John saw Sherlock enter a room and he follows.

Sherlock's eyes looked at the certificates, one of the certificates bearing a year of new ownership to Jeremy Love in 1995 and a newer certificate with the year 1996 belonging to Lucy Love. A funeral card was displayed on the desk, one with a small photo of an aged man, clearly Jeremy Love with a quote and "God has gained yet another angel". A newspaper article was tacked to the wall with, "Young man: Jeremy Love, missing from Love residence". A new article read about how the body of Jeremy had never been found, assuming that the man was dead, a funeral was held with no body in the casket. Further reading talked about Lucy's distress in her brother's loss and photo's of an aged women holding a bouquet of flowers over a memorial photo of her brother.

Sherlock's stomach sunk, the study's window overlooked the backyard, as the forensics team shouted orders or claims of finding something more. Sherlock felt sick, he looked into the orange bucket again, finding it fuller than it was earlier. He silently prayed it wasn't the body of Jeremy Love.

John notices Sherlock looking out the window to the backyard, his eyes worried and his lip pursing inwards. John notices these things now, and Sherlock is very uncomfortable and upset but it was hard to figure out why. John looks out the window and into the bucket the forensics had, fuller than earlier. His eyebrows furrowed and a deep sadness overcame him, "Let's move on Sherlock, so we can go home".

Sherlock followed John, the world tilting in every direction as the smell poured into his system. The final door was yet to be opened. John tried to open it but it was locked. "D'ya think Lestrade would be mind if I kick it open?" "Shoot the lock" Sherlock says and John takes a step back, pressing the collar of his coat up to his nose and expertly firing a round into the lock. Sherlock takes the knob and turns it to open, inside was horror beyond imagination. 

The great Sherlock Holmes should never be scared of anything but this, this crime-scene was straight out of book, something that only the darkest of minds could be able imagine. The walls were white and smudged with blood. The smell was overbearing and Sherlock could finally place it, "Cerebrospinal fluid" Sherlock says and John nods, to confirm he was right. The carpet beneath them was wet with chlorine and saws, home-made bludgeons and other devices were either hanging on the wall or scattered on the floor. A dried pool of blood was at the far end of the room, staining the laminate floor and Sherlock was almost sick. 

Lestrade and a team rushed up, "We heard a shot" he says and immediately gags, looking into the room as the team behind him floods in with their cameras and evidence bags. "You boys are excused" Lestrade says covering his nose and mouth as he went into the room with the team to pick up what they can, "Go back to the yard and Sally will give you the paperwork". 

Sherlock walked back down the hall of photographs, feeling dizzy and sick, John had a hand on his back, ushering him out of the house. 

Because of being in the suburbs, the main road was a few blocks away and the two had to walk a while until they got to the main road. Sherlock was breathing heavily, relieved to be out of that house, John was immediately on him, putting a palm on his forehead and and swiping the detective's hair upwards. 

"You were scaring me back there Sherlock, what happened?" John asks, and Sherlock stops walking. His eyes were distant, his mind desperately trying to come up with words to describe the complete and utter  _fear_ he felt back there. 

"John" he licks his lips, "That house back there... is uneasy, the body dump and the room are the biggest red flags but the documents, the photographs on the walls and the certificates tell a story". Sherlock continued to walk, John intently listening. 

"The hallway was a timeline, where it all began. The house is almost one hundred years old, it's first tenants were a young couple, just beginning to a new life with a new child; the oldest son, Jeremy Love... They later have another child, Lucy Love. The rest of the photographs show their achievements in life before finally signing the house over to Jeremy. But didn't you notice that a year after the house was signed over to Jeremy, he goes missing and the house goes to Lucy?"

"But what about the body dumps? The torture room?" John presses and Sherlock shook his head, "I'm unsure, but it may be that the people she cared for she robbed. If they were to die under her care, she gets the money. Like the disabled people, she got their inheritances or retirement money" "Explain the homeless men" "She needs help carrying out bodies, she's eighty three years old". 

"That's sick" John says, waving for a cab at the main road, "Says the one who went to war" Sherlock says and John shrugs. 

In the cab, Sherlock recounted the photographs to John till they reached Scotland Yard. At the front desk, Sally greets with a "Found another one, Freak?". 

"Mrs. Donovan, did you get extensions?" Sherlock says, beginning to sign some of paperwork, "What's to you?" Sally spits, obviously showing that she indeed get something done with her hair by denial or answering with a question, "Nothing, I figured Anderson would need something extra to hold onto other than that flat chest of yours in the bedroom" Sherlock smiles smugly, earning a kick to his ankle from John. 

"My appearance has nothing to do with me and Philip's love-life" She hisses, "And your involvement with my case has nothing to do with you either" Sherlock drops the pen back onto the clipboard and pushes it to Sally. "Fuck off Holmes!" She spits. Sherlock, through gritted teeth, says, "Eat me" before finally turning around to get out and go home. 

John wasn't happy with his behavior, but today was stressful enough. Back at home, he took away the telly for an hour to which Sherlock groaned but accepted the punishment since it was better than going over John's knee. 

As the hour passed, Sherlock fell asleep on the couch with a newspaper on his chest. John fished about in the kitchen for a decent breakfast. He found some eggs and day old bread and some salmon. He began to cook.

Sherlock knew he was in a dream, but it felt too real. He was walking through the house again, two children ran past him in the hall. A man in his study was laughing and giggling, chasing the kids as a mother cooked down in the kitchen. The house was so full of life, the wallpaper was brand new and the photographs only reached to the middle of the hall. There was a play room, bedrooms for the kids and a master bedroom at the end of the hall. 

Sherlock couldn't help but smile and laugh, seeing how wonderful this house must've been. He turned to go downstairs and the scene changed, there were guests, blank-faced but they were there as a graduating Jeremy stood for a photograph and his sister sulking in the background. No one seemed to be paying attention to her, not even the guests. Sherlock circled the living room, the television played an episode of Looney Tunes. Sherlock kept walking, he turned to look back up at where Lucy was but she was gone and he was now outside, posing for a photograph of the new car. Lucy stood, unhappily holding the certificate as he brother leaned against the car. Their father was behind the camera, "Alright dears! Smile and look alive!" The camera was going to go off any minute so the father quickly moved to stand beside his wife. Lucy smiled until the shutter went off and tossed the document aside, "Lucy!" Her mother scolded but she didn't listen. "Lucy! Be happy for your brother!". Sherlock turned to face Lucy again but he was back inside. It was dark and a memorial picture of Jeremy stood at the center of the living room. Guests all in black sat and chattered while Lucy held a bouquet of flowers next to her brother's picture. No one spoke as a camera went off. Lucy turned away from her guests, dipping a finger into a planter to moisten her finger and drag water across her cheeks. She began to blubber and pretend to be struck by the loss of her brother. Sherlock was sickened, "She isn't crying, you narrow-minded fools! She knows exactly where Jeremy is, just look in the backyard!". No one even glanced in Sherlock's direction and went to comfort the 'crying' Lucy. Sherlock turned away for a moment and was upstairs now, in the study as Lucy signed a document deviously, "The moment I have been waiting so long for". Sherlock craned to see it was an ownership document and Lucy was just signing her name. She turned to walk away and in the hall, Lucy was back, her wrinkled face spattered with blood and an excited smile, "Now Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The secret is how to die" she says, swiping a saw at him. 

Sherlock sat up on the couch, the paper he'd been reading came fluttering off and felt his fingers go cold. John was at his chair eating and scrolling through something on his computer. "What was your dream about?" John says, putting his fork back on his plate and setting it aside. "What? Nothing, I wasn't dreaming" Sherlock says, brushing his hair back with his fingers. "You were saying something along the lines of 'She isn't crying, you narrow-minded fools'" to this Sherlock sighs, he got him. "Okay, yeah, the house". 

"It really spooked you didn't it?" John says, getting up to clear his plate and wash it. "Of course it did John, it's the worst crime-scene I have ever had the blessing to deduce". Then, Sherlock's phone went off with a text from Lestrade, "24 hours, Bodies will be ID'd, help with cause of death tomorrow?" Sherlock looks up at John who was washing his dish, he decides against telling him. 

"Eight am" he replies and tosses his phone away. "Who was that?" John asks, "Lestrade complaining about me and Sally". 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a filler chapter but the case described here is based off a true story that I saw on TV and thought it would be great to include! Sorry for such a long 'hiatus', school's been consuming my time and creativity :(


End file.
